Saint
by BinkumAndJo
Summary: WS fluff. Sara goes incognito to a Mardi Gras party. Trying to see what Warrick is like off the clock and with his guard down, she has a little fun. However, he's more receptive than Sara thought. MINDLESS FLUFF!


**Pointless W/S fluff! Just in time for Mardi Gras, too.**

**Ha. This time I have a definite ending. You CAN'T trick me into making this ANOTHER WIP. Not happining. No way.**

**A plot bunny that was distracting me from my "serious" fics.**

**I own nothing, yadda yadda**

"Ha ha. Resistance is futile," one of Sara's few friends crowed as she pulled her out of her house. "You're going to this party, whether you like it or not." Elaine had been her best friend in college, and she was visiting her home in Vegas for an article in her magazine. Insisting that Sara show her the nightlife, it was actually going the other way around.

Elaine, her party-animal instincts not stilled after over a decade, had unearthed a Mardi Gras celebration. Sara hadn't celebrated the previously mentioned holiday ever. As in in her entire life. Compulsive costumer Elaine's creations wouldn't have looked out of place in New Orleans, the birthplace of uber-parties.

She had coaxed Sara into a black midriff sleeveless top, with crème fringe so that didn't make Sara feel like she was standing around naked. When coupled with black bell-bottoms, and a black suede vest, she looked pretty close to what qualified as 'normal' on Mardi Gras. Upon Elaine's insistence, Sara donned a small mask, half silver, half black. In reality, she had only accepted it to hide her embarrassment.

For herself, 'Lane had chosen a much simpler red, sparkly dress that ended mid-thigh. When questioned by the incredulous Sara, the naturally sandy brown-haired Elaine excused her moderate outfit with her bleached and dyed red and blue hair. Grabbing her own much larger, wing-adorned red mask, Elaine hauled Sara out of her house.

Trading stories on the way to the party, Sara and Elaine traded outrageous stories, however, after Sara's first story of a decomp, Elaine had requested not to hear any more case files. "Ok, Saint," Elaine began, suddenly pulling their nicknames from college out of retirement. "We're here. For the record, a) I want to see you dancing with a hot guy and, b) I intend on going home with one. Which I recommend for you, but whatever. So, here're the car keys, knock yourself out."

Sara snorted at Elaine's blunt honesty, "You got it… Blondie." Catching the keys to Elaine's convertible as she tossed them towards her, Sara took a deep breath. Giving herself a shake, she stepped out of the car. 'Aw, man. What am I doing?' Something stupid, no doubt. No matter.

She stalked into the club, her short-heeled stride more confident than she. Turning three invitations to dance, two from one drunken lout. As she slowly made her way to a seat so she could collect herself. Wheeling about after a tap on her shoulder, she was about to make the owner of the hand sing soprano. Until she recognized him, or to be more exact, his voice.

"Hey, would you like to dance?" A smooth, bass voice asked. Warrick. Sara arched an eyebrow, though _he _probably couldn't tell through the mask. Was he serious? Didn't he recognize her? Probably not. After all, once he was off the clock, work was most likely the furthest thing from his mind. It's not like her co-workers imagined her as a party-animal. Suddenly, Sara realized he was waiting for an answer.

She let her eyes coast over a pair of black slacks and black button-up shirt, sleeves pushed past the elbows, pretending she hadn't seen it before. "That depends. Are you a good dancer?" Sara was embarrassed at her own words, without reason, but embarrassed just the same.

"I guess you could say that." Warrick grabbed her hand, and led her to the dance floor. He leaned his head into her so they could carry on a conversation. "So, tell me, what's your name?"

Sara thought quickly. "They call me Saint, 'cause I'm not one." Sara drew on her college tag, along with the motive behind it. Keeping her voice a slightly lower pitch, to continue obscure her identity, she asked, "Do you have a name?"

"Saint. I like it. My name's Warrick," he responded with an answer she already knew. "Mmm, Warrick," Sara smiled as he slid his hands down her waist. All the while remarking to herself how phenomenally stupid she was being. "Your name means fortress. A safe haven." This bit of trivia was awarded to Sara when, on a whim, she researched the members of her team's names.

"That's impressive," Warrick spoke low in her ear, making shivers run up her spine. Sara only smiled wider, careful not to show her trademark gap as she whispered back, "I'm good with names, but they're not my only skill."

After about ten odd minutes on the dance floor, Sara decided to take initiative as she glimpsed Elaine leave with someone who looked a bit like Greg, only older, taller, and darker-haired. "Would you like to see what else I can do?"

Warrick quirked an eyebrow at her as she desperately tried to un-innuendo the statement. "Oh, don't get ahead of yourself. C'mon, let's go sit down, once I know more about you than you're name, we'll see." He laughed, allowing himself to be towed to one of the many vacant tables.

Sara launched into her line of questioning with vigor, enjoying answering the ones he asked in return. "So, where do you work?"

"I'm a CSI, Crime Scene Investigator, at the LVPD."

" So you're a local?"

"Born and raised. What about you? Where do you pay your taxes?"

"Well, I was born in Southern California," that was half true, "But I live here now," she replied, blatantly dodging having to lie about where she worked.

"Cool. Boyfriend?"

Sara laughed once, not bitterly, but the sound had no mirth. "No way. Decent guys and I are like oil and water. Present company excluded, I'm sure. Girlfriend?"

Warrick grinned, the simple motion making her smile in response. "Nope."

She feigned a thoughtful expression, then asked the first question that occurred to her. "So, what brings you to the party tonight?"

"Ah, some friends of mine from the crime lab decided to make jackasses out of themselves," he admitted with a laugh that lightened the statement. He gestured towards the center of the room, where Sara stopped Nick, decked out, of course, in an outfit that he must have been paid to take from a storeowner. Turning away for fear of being recognized, she spied Greg, in a getup that could only be described as a crime against fashion.

Turning swiftly back to Warrick, she grinned, then remembered why she hadn't been, then dropped it down to a smile. "So, Saint, can I give you my number?"

Sara nodded, glad there had been no flash of realization in his eyes. Maybe her grin wasn't as distinctive as she had been told, or maybe he just hadn't recognized it. He slid a napkin across the table, which she folded and put into her purse. They chatted for about an hour, hand clasped under the table, before Nick stumbled, clearly plastered, giving Warrick a heads up that he would be riding an elephant home.

Warrick rolled his eyes, and then excused himself with an apologetic glance. "Call me, ok, Saint? I had fun tonight?" Sara nodded in affirmation, "You can bet on it."

Driving Elaine's T-Bird home, Sara was blown away by the divine flirting she had just shared with a co-worker. Entering her house in a blissful trance, she threw herself on her bed. Awaking to the bright morning light of a Sunday, Sara groggily made her way to the bathroom. After changing her clothing, and composing herself, Sara went to her purse, to see if Warrick had given "Saint" his real number. Unfolding the napkin she had hastily shoved into her purse, she read it twice, not believing her eyes.

Giggling impulsively, she thrust the napkin onto her side table, and ran to her phone, hoping it wasn't too early to call Warrick.

_Fourteen years later, Casey, Sara and Warrick's thirteen year old daughter with Sara's inquisitive nature and Warrick's "screw-the-system" mentality, was going through the cardboard box Sara had dubbed "Proof That I'm Human." Pulling a paper napkin out of the bottom, Casey Saint Brown read aloud,_

_"Saint Sara-  
With this document, I, Warrick Brown, bequeath to you, my Saint Sara Sidle,  
One heart.  
Sara, I love you.  
W.B. 555-8345  
P.S. It's easy to recognize someone as beautiful as you"_

**I'm crap at fluff, yes, I know. But a review would be nice anyway! I just needed a W/S fluff fix after the WC that was on tonight's Spike show (Bully for You)**


End file.
